Tomorrow's Calling
by Snarriet
Summary: Floating in the wrong time. Timetravel cliché with a twist. Marauder era. SLASH Spoilers for all the books. Set after the last book.
1. Chapter 1: Headaches

**Notes: This is my take on the cliché time travel idea, but obviously I'm trying to make it my own. This is also my first story, so I'm hoping to receive some reviews with good criticism. I'm betaing for myself, so I apologise for all the mistakes I've made. I would be glad if, on the occasion of it happening, someone would point the mistakes out. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though some ideas, the non-cliché ones if you manage to find any, do belong to me. **

**Warnings: I'm not quite sure where this will go, but… slash, language, possible het, mild violence… if something unusual happens, I'll state it in the beginning of the chapter. **

**This chapter was uploaded on: 12 May 2009**

**This chapter was edited on: 2 April 2010 **

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**Chapter One: Headaches**

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Bronze skin under his fingertips. He felt amazement. Maybe joy, although he guarded it well.

He turned on his back and blinked slowly, savouring the moment. He might have scoffed at himself under other circumstances, but as he was here, feeling what he was, seeing what he was, he couldn't feel the usual need to belittle himself or any other person at that. He might not go as far as to say that now everything was perfect, life was good and he saw things in a different, more beautiful light, but perhaps something in that direction wouldn't be too far off. He was actually quite content at the moment, which came as a surprise to him, even while he was sure he must have unconsciously recognised the feeling a long time ago. But while he knew he was... happy, for the lack of better word... he also knew himself.

He shifted and felt a hand pet his hair before the fingers tiptoed carefully to flick at his nose and settle above his heart. He smiled briefly, but he was glad his heart couldn't give away his depressing thoughts to the hand resting above it. He hadn't been born to a happy life and in general life wasn't fair, much less so to those like him, and he had been laughed at too many times for it not to count. So, he closed his eyes again and tried to empty his mind of everything else but what was real here and now. He couldn't seem to shake off the queasy feeling of dread that hung around him like a cloak because he knew it had been there for too long and for the thousandth time he couldn't do anything but wish he had been born as someone else.

His thought swirled around in a momentary panic. It wouldn't do to seem too excited. Might seem ridiculous. He didn't want to be ridiculed, laughed at, not by him. Other people he could stand, but not him.

His friend… his lover?

He needed to focus on something, so he grabbed the idle hand and wove their fingers together. He felt strong as he looked at their intertwined hands, his own slightly bigger one almost glowing in its paleness against its tanned companion. He felt strong in the presence of this person. Easily shattered strength, he knew, but strength nonetheless. He let his gaze wander away from their clasping hands. Those muscles, that square jaw. Those fierce eyes. He felt them lighting up the part of him that still believed in all those clichés like goodness and beauty and... true love... he felt himself hesitate, so he buried the last thought at the back of his mind. There was danger in those eyes as well. He didn't really know this person. He knew that, he did. But he felt that he didn't care enough.

Not a girl. He felt that he didn't care about that either. No soft curves and giggles. Never interested in that. But… no red hair, no everything that was… her. The same eyes, though, but still different. Harder than hers. Darker. Once he had thought that maybe…

…but he had been stupid. He felt his mouth turn downwards into a scowl and stopped it. He didn't want to think about that. Not now. Not ever. In a sudden spasm he felt like punching something and for a moment was sure he was going to do it as well. But before he could decide if he would, there was a hand landing on his arm. Long, thin, calloused fingers on his arm. Strong grip. Looking at that face, avoiding those eyes, he lunged forward in a surprising act of boldness. Concentrating on that mouth. Concentrating… on the… kiss… and he would... just savour the moment... as long as he was... able.

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Harry's head felt horrible. It was as if Snape had been experimenting with some foul potion of his and chosen Harry as his test subject. The potion would have been something that slowly travelled to one's brain and started melting it. The shrinking, nauseating feeling was uncomfortable and the harsh pounding inside his head didn't make it any better.

Quite against what someone might have guessed, the blame for his suffering didn't fall on the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. No, the scar had stopped aching the moment Voldemort had been vanquished about four months ago, luckily. Neither was his pain caused by too many pints of certain liquids not allowed down the throats of underage wizards, witches or muggles. No, his headache was solely stress based.

After Voldemort's demise there had been no relief for Harry. One would think that after defeating the darkest wizard of the last half a century for good, his life would have calmed down. But being hunted down by witches and wizards wanting to congratulate him and scoop-hungry reporters almost as bad as the Death Eaters wasn't Harry's idea of relaxing. The only safe haven for him was Grimmauld Place, but even with Kreacher as his company, he was bound to get lonely. And that was sarcasm.

He had already had more than enough this week. Just a few hours ago, while briefly visiting Diagon Alley, he had found himself almost drowned by excited witches and wizards, all of them wanting to murder him with their hugs and well-wishes. Harry was sure someone had even had the audacity to tug a few strands of his hair out of his head. He had had to force his way out of the crowd and apparate back to the vicinity of the former House of Black.

Someone could have though that things would have calmed down after four months.

Currently he was lying on his bed in his room. He could hear Kreacher clanking downstairs, far too loudly in his opinion. Even his neck and back hurt, but there wasn't much he could do. While he and Kreacher had quite a good relationship, asking the house-elf for a back rub wasn't something he was about to do. Neither had he any potions that would have allowed him to relax.

Unfortunately he couldn't just floo to Hogsmeade, walk to the Castle and pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey. The mediwitch had said, and not in a playful way by any means, that she had seen him far too many times during his schooldays and thus didn't want to see his face for at least a year. It had been only a little over three months and Harry didn't feel it to be safe enough yet. Hermione was out of the country, so Harry couldn't ask her either.

His last resort would have been Snape, but he couldn't go to see him either as the man had been at St. Mungo's for the past four months. The poison of Voldemort's pet snake had done a lot of damage to Snape's mind and body, but he hadn't died.

Unfortunately, the man was now as sane as Neville Longbottom's parents and Lockhart combined. Harry had visited him once and it hadn't been the most pleasant experience of his life. While Harry had never liked Snape enough to know him that well, he had still acknowledged that the man was intelligent. Before, looking Snape in the eyes had revealed either loathing for Harry's father or dry mirth at Harry's demise, occasionally something else as well, but now he couldn't make out even the slightest bit of sanity. The dark twinkle in Snape's eyes, very different from Dumbledore's twinkle, but a twinkle nonetheless, had simply vanished, and now those black eyes had dimmed to an even darker shade than before.

It had been very uncomfortable, sitting in the dark room beside the bed, being stared at by his former Potion's Professor. The Nurses had said that Snape could still talk, but he hadn't said anything to Harry. After fifteen minutes of stiff silence, a Nurse had come to give Snape his lunch and Harry had made his hasty retreat.

Harry sighed.

There had been so many deaths he didn't understand how all his friends seemed to have bounced back to relatively normal life. Ron and Hermione were currently travelling The Continent, although Harry could understand it to be a sort of an escape from the reality of what had happened, and everybody else was either busy with their school or work.

Harry still didn't know what he would like to do for the rest of his life. Becoming an Auror had been a good idea at the time, for the lack of any better ones, but after all he had been through, Harry didn't feel it would be the best choice for him. He wanted to do something important, but he wanted to be just Harry, not The Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One, while doing it. How that would be possible was still a mystery to him. Unlike Hermione, he wasn't really prone to do tedious research unless it had something to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts and that again led to becoming an Auror. He just couldn't figure it out. He had studied well enough in other subjects to be able to choose another career, but his heart constantly tugged towards that one subject. He didn't know if there were any other fields where he could use his skills in battling as well as being an Auror would let him.

Harry rubbed his temple with his knuckles in slow circles. The clanking downstairs had stopped and Harry was sure that he would be expected for dinner sometime soon. He groggily rose from his bed, swayed a bit and sat back down. Maybe he would have to ask Kreacher for a back rub after all.

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Harry's mood wasn't any better come evening. He was contemplating a second visit to Diagon Alley, specifically to the Apothecary. Kreacher had made him some tea with herbs to cure his headache. Feverfew, peppermint and a sprinkle of passionflower and some curious purple leaves which had seemed to be moving jerkily towards the edge of the counter (maybe to escape, Harry hadn't been sure) before the house elf had thrown them into the kettle. It hadn't helped at all. The bitter aftertaste had made him gag and cough and doubled the pounding in his head. Kreacher had looked so miserable that Harry had had to placate it by smiling widely trough his pain and walking out of the kitchen humming a cheerful and quick version of the Hogwarts school song, the first thing that had popped in his mind.

He had also tried meditating, but he hadn't been able to empty his mind. Having time to think was a horror Harry didn't want to face. Having time to think meant having time to fall deep into grief and regret. And there was a lot of grief and regret in him. Meditating offered him no peace.

He rose from the plush chair in front of the fireplace, flames merrily dancing in front of him. He didn't feel like Apparating.

"I'm going to Diagon Alley!" He wasn't sure if the house elf had heard him, but he quickly grabbed some floo powder from the jar on the chimneypiece and threw it in the flames. As the flames turned to the colour of his eyes, he shouted the name of his destination and stepped into them…

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The first thing Harry was aware of was the smell, like sweaty socks after an intense Quidditch match. It was very faint, though, like coming from a long distance away. Harry strongly suspected he hadn't arrived at the main fireplace of The Leaky Cauldron and instantly felt himself fall into the familiar alertness he always did in battle and other dangerous situations.

He realised he had his eyes open but that he couldn't see anything. No, that wasn't quite right. A slight sliver of light came from behind him, near the floor. The door, Harry guessed, fitted the doorframe almost perfectly. The hole between the door and the frame was so small a mouse wouldn't fit through. No air would be able to get inside the space Harry was in and he didn't wonder anymore why it smelled like sweaty socks. Harry couldn't remember turning towards the door… but he must have. He felt disoriented.

Harry could see a small part of the floor. Dust and pebbles. And something that looked like a dead rat. Harry didn't remember hearing his boots crunch on the pebbles, but he didn't feel so good… his senses felt… strange, like something was amiss. He suddenly realised that his headache was gone. He just felt… numb and strangely light. As if he could only bend his knees a little and push up a fraction and he would float up until he hit the roof. He was facing the door. He didn't remember using his feet.

He raised his right arm. It didn't feel heavy. Harry thought he could just see the outline of his arm, but he wasn't sure since… his eyes couldn't quite seem to focus on his arm… it looked very strange. Hazy. He needed to get out of the dusty little room and find out where he was.

Harry raised his hand to touch the door in order to search for a door knob or a lock. Feeling no door where he thought it should have been, he moved closer. A strange sensation moved from his fingertips to his palm to his wrist and up his arm. He moved even closer and the feeling intensified. Where was the blasted door! He pounced at it-

And floated straight through the door into a dimly lit hallway. Looking over his shoulder, he could still see the door in one piece. His mind seemed to freeze.

Okay. He had walked through a door when he was quite sure he hadn't been able to do that yesterday. But these sort of things happened to him all the time. Maybe it was the door. A door which is actually no door at all, just an illusion to keep the nosiest first years out of the… smelling closet. Because he recognised the hallway, even though he wasn't sure he had ever walked through this particular one during the years he had spent in the castle. There were far stranger things in Hogwarts than false doors. Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten. Everything would be okay once he opened his eyes.

…nine. Ten.

He looked down at his hands. He looked down at his feet. He turned his head and checked his backside.

He felt queasy. He was nearly transparent! Harry could see the pattern on the hallway carped trough his stomach and feet. Vines, white flowers and twinkly stars peeking through his whole being-

"What're you called?" said a clear voice just next to him.

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The lifeless body of Harry Potter fell from the fireplace of the very busy Diagon Alley pub.

Sentences cut in half. Stiff silence and blinking eyes filled the pub as all eyes turned towards the fireplace and the unmoving figure it had spit out.

Tom the Bartender let out a strangled cough and the glass he had been cleaning slipped from his fingers and rolled over the edge of the bar. It shattered with a loud crack, shards flying everywhere, then jumped up from the floor, repaired itself and flew back on the counter like nothing had happened.

Someone screamed and suddenly the whole pub was nothing more but horrified screams and breaking and repairing glasses and plates and running feet and flailing arms and scattered food and drink as every witch and wizard and goblin and hag and vampire sprung up from their seats to every which direction their instincts told them to.

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**Please leave a short (or long) review if you have time. ****I'd really appreciate it.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Boy Who Lived

**AN: Thank you to the people who reviewed and/or added this story to your alerts or favourites. Special thanks to Amariposa for the useful pointers. **

**On a side note, happy International Day Against Homophobia, everyone! And I'm quite happy that the day before yesterday –at last- the Parliament of Finland voted on the internal LGBT adoption and the law went ****through and LGBT people can now adopt their partner's children if they so wish! It was about time.**

**This chapter was uploaded on: 17 May 2009**

**This chapter was edited on: ****29 August 2010**

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**Chapter 2: The Boy Who Lived…****?**

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Having successfully reached a small ledge perfect to take a small tea-break on Hermione Granger sighed as she watched the ginger coloured head of Ronald Weasley slowly climb (of course with the rest of his body) somewhat further down the slope than she had hoped. He disappeared behind a pointy rock that she imagined looked a bit like an attacking hawk from where she was standing and emerged a few seconds later looking as ticked off as he had before.

Hermione sighed again.

She loved Ron dearly, but sometimes… he could be so pig-headed. From the moment he had woken up that morning, he had decided to be irritating and not to enjoy the wonderful scenery around them. Of course, in reality Hermione wouldn't have him in any other way, but there were moments when she just felt so exhausted by his antics. She felt saddened by the thought and quickly squashed her irritation. Ron had been through a lot. They all had. Together. Maybe she was just being too harsh with him. Sometimes she just didn't notice it until they got down to a full shouting-match.

Ron took the last few steps and slumped on the ground at her feet and groaned.

"Why are we here again?" he muttered and cast a quick sidelong glance at her. Checking to make sure he hadn't annoyed her too much, she guessed and felt slightly guilty.

"Because, Ron, this is a very important magical place. The Súľov Rocks area is historically very central to our kind." She turned to her lightened backpack and took out a small kettle, a water bottle she had filled from a spring, two tea bags and the ham sandwiches she had made this morning.

Ron huffed. "Doesn't mean we have to get up at six every bloody morning." This was the fifth thing he had complained about today and Hermione was quite surprised he hadn't brought the matter of sleep up sooner.

"It's eight the local time, Ron."

"It's still early."

Well, maybe he was right. But that still didn't mean that she was going down without a fight. She opened her mouth to speak. She hadn't come here to admire the ceiling in their lodging.

Though, she hadn't come here to fight either, but to spend some time with Ron and admire the Slovakian rock formations and the magic of the place…

"Well, what if we rest in tomorrow, how about that?" She grinned at him. "Stay in bed for the whole day, hmm?"

He grinned back at her and Hermione felt a warm glow inside her. She felt happy and giddy and quickly bent to kiss Ron on the cheek.

"What was that?" Ron smiled.

She laughed at his expression and moved in for another kiss, this time aiming for his mouth.

After a few minutes she remembered that she hadn't put the kettle on.

But who cared about tea right now?

Ron's stomach grumbled loudly and Hermione had to laugh in the kiss. She moved to take Ron's hands out of her hair and succeeded. Ron was blushing slightly and let out a small embarrassed chuckle.

Hermione quickly found her wand and accioed a few rocks and sticks and conjured a tiny magical fire on the rocky surface of the ledge. The tea was soon brewing and they were sitting side by side on the ground. Hermione caught Ron smiling at her more than once when she turned to check on the tea. She smiled to herself and passed Ron the sandwiches.

The day was sunny and beautiful. The perfect kind of August weather. Hermione could hear numerous birds singing in the surrounding trees. The ledge was a wonderful place to look down on the valley still in full bloom. The surrounding rock formations were in bizarre shapes of towers, cones, needles and gates as well as of human and not so humanlike figures and the strangest of animals. It was a breathtaking place. She noticed Ron had fallen asleep resting on the sun-warmed rock, but decided not to wake him. A little nap would cheer him up.

She looked around her. On her left, peeking through the coniferous trees was a rock in the shape of a woman dressed in a shawl, finger pointing in the direction from where she and Ron had traipsed from a while ago.

Hermione turned to look towards the traditional house they were staying in but it was obstructed by a small patch of wood. The house was owned by an old witch called Idania. She had told them that she had used to be the Deputy Chairwitch of the International Wizards and Witches Potted Poison Plant Organisation and that was the reason she spoke English as well as she did. When they had been told this Ron had looked like he was about to laugh, so Hermione had silenced him with a glare that, as Ron told her later when they were alone, had been worth to rival Snape's most vicious ones.

Hermione sighed and glanced at Ron. Small snoring sounds emerged from his slightly open mouth and he seemed to be trying to catch something in his sleep. His expression was quite peaceful though, so it didn't look like he was having a nightmare. She shuddered. As time passed, she found it easier and easier not to think about the Final Battle, but in her sleep she sometimes found herself in the middle of the chaos. She always woke up screaming, still seeing people falling down all over her, green spells flying every which way. Always waiting one to hit her.

She rose from the ground and brushed off the green needles that had gotten stuck at her brown trousers and the hem of the rust and aquamarine striped jumper, courtesy of Molly Weasley. She rinsed the cooled kettle and the small mugs they had used with the water from the bottle and put them back in the backpack. The small lunchbox void of sandwiches followed.

They should continue their climb further up the hill.

Hermione moved to shake Ron awake when a brown blur on the sky caught her attention. As it moved closer, she saw that it was the owl she had seen sitting in the corner of Idania's kitchen. It circled around a bit over the trees, but then seemed to spot her standing form and headed their way. It landed rather smoothly on a nearby branch, turned to look at her with its yellow eyes and raised its left leg towards her. In its claw was a wrinkled piece of paper clearly ripped hastily from a notebook. Hermione looked at the text scripted on it and didn't notice the owl's departure.

_mlieko_

_chlieb_

_puding_

_uhorka_

_slanina_

What? It was clearly a list… Hermione checked the other side of the paper.

_Dear Hermoine and Ron. Return to cottage. Worrying news from home. Mrs Weasley request your presence home. A tragic event happened and your friend in horible accident. Idani__a_

Hermione went pale and she had to wrap her arms around herself as tightly as she could and take a few calming breaths. It had to be Harry! She just knew it. But she wouldn't panic until she knew what had happened. She wouldn't panic until she had woken Ron up.

"Ron!"

She watched him wake up with a start and reach for his wand immediately. His eyes evaluated their surroundings in a brief moment, and finding no threat in sight, his eyes turned to her, concerned.

"What is it?" He pushed himself up and walked to her, wrapping his arms around her. Hermione felt instantly better.

"This just came…" Only now she noticed that she still clutched the paper in her hand. It was even more wrinkled than when she had first gotten it.

Ron took the paper.

"Bloody hell, no! It's got to be Harry!"

They had to get home as fast as they could.

IIIIIIIIIII

"What're you called?"

Harry was startled. The inquiring voice came behind him, so he turned… floated, spun… err, he wasn't sure what it was. He felt weightless, like a sudden gust of wind could sweep him off hundreds of miles in a second. It wasn't a comforting feeling. He now faced a small blond boy, probably a first or a second year since Harry didn't recognise him.

"Um… huh?" His own voice sounded hollower to his ears than it had sounded before. Or maybe it was just his imagination…he hoped so.

The boy huffed and his cheeks reddened slightly, but he still seemed interested.

"What're you called?" he repeated. "I haven't seen you before. Were you a Gryffindor when you were alive?"

The boy seemed hopeful at that. Harry felt nauseated all of a sudden. He decided to ignore all the distress signals from his brain. He didn't want to think right now.

"Err, when I was…, I um, I'm a Gryffindor."

"Oh, good! I'm too." The boy smiled. Then he seemed to remember something. He sounded a bit breathless. "How did you die?"

Harry blinked. He had been in his fair… well, not maybe fair, but in his share of intense and dangerous situations, but he had never felt so out of place. Maybe it was because he had thought his unexpected adventures to be over now that Voldemort was no more and had come to think of walking through the mass of still jubilant witches and wizards as his greatest battle. Besides, it seemed that he was now truly missing his body. It felt different from the first time he had died. No Albus Dumbledore or his parents in sight. And what was he doing in Hogwarts when he had been trying to reach the Leaky Cauldron? Hogwarts wasn't even part of the floo network unless by Headmistress' exception. Had there been a fireplace in the small room he had found himself in?

"Uh, I… I don't really know. I-" His mind seemed to have gone into a loop.

The boy stared at Harry for a few seconds. Then he seemed to come into some sort of conclusion.

"You're kind of... weird..." He frowned a little. "What're you called?"

Okay, Harry could pretend he was a… ghost. He didn't remember dying and choosing to stay behind as a ghost, so it was highly possible that he wasn't dead and this was just some fluke. Just his luck again. He looked down at his transparent arms and sighed. He clearly needed a name in order to quickly escape the small boy, so he could go find Headmistress McGonagall or any of the other teachers… Nearly Headless Nick, The Bloody Baron… Why did ghosts have names like that? And come to think of it, why didn't the boy recognise him as Harry Potter? He wasn't vain; it was actually quite refreshing that someone didn't seem to know him. But it was certainly a little strange as well…

"Um, don't you know who I am?"

The boy glared at him.

"Wouldn't ask if I did!" The words came out loud, whiny and jumbled. Momentarily the boy reminded Harry a bit of an angry Vernon Dursley, minus the flying spit and the jiggling fat of his Uncle's multiple chins. The boy had gotten red in the face almost as quickly as his Uncle had every time Harry had done something wrong.

"Uh, sorry I asked. I was sort of hoping that…"

The ruddy red colour left the boy's face almost as quickly as it had appeared and the boy seemed curious again.

"Oh, are you famous? What's your name?" He almost wagged his ears.

"Uh, well, I'm-" Harry's eyes caught movement at the end of the hallway. A slightly plump boy with wispy blond hair and a small pointy nose came running around the corner. Nobody seemed to be behind him, so Harry guessed that he was just in a hurry to somewhere. He passed Harry and the boy with a quick glance of his watery blue eyes and wheezily rounded another corner, vanishing from sight. Something about him… but Harry didn't quite recognise him. He was at least a fourth year…

"That was Peter." The blond boy seemed to have sensed his question. "He's in Gryffindor as well."

Peter? There had been no Peter a few years younger than him in Gryffindor. The only Peter he knew- Harry felt like an electric current had gone through him. It couldn't be…

"Peter who?" The question came out sharper than he had intended and the boy flinched.

"Peter Pettigrew. He's a sixth year… What about it?" The boy looked disappointed that Harry had gotten so interested in a seemingly unrelated matter… and an uninteresting topic.

Peter Pettigrew. A sixth year Gryffindor. Harry had to get out of the empty corridor. He had to see with his own eyes. It couldn't be real. Peter Pettigrew… His parents… Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore? Even Snape. He didn't know how or why, but he was a ghost and he had just seen Peter Pettigrew run through the hallway. No surprise that the young Gryffindor boy hadn't recognised Harry. He wasn't even born yet! Unless this was some sort of parallel universe where Harry didn't exist and Peter Pettigrew had been born twenty years later. But now that he thought about it, there was something hauntingly familiar about the blond boy as well… But no! He had to see his parents! Right. Now.

"I have to go." And with that he turned around and floated in the direction of the Great Hall, ignoring the Gryffindor boy's 'hey!' and leaving him muttering darkly after Harry.

Moving as a ghost was a lot trickier than Harry had always presumed. It felt a little like swimming, but with less resistance. There were air currents in the castle that he hadn't noticed before and which made him wary to approach side corridors and open windows. It had always looked so effortless when he had watched Nearly Headless Nick, The Fat Friar or any of the other ghosts move, but Harry supposed that such confidence was gained only trough time and experience. And he would prefer his time as a ghost to be as short as possible.

He noticed that Hogwarts looked very much the same as it had in his time. Small changes, but you could nearly miss them. The same corridors, same portraits, windows, wall cloths… Harry was quite sure he has seen The Gray Lady gliding somewhere in his right a while ago, but he had steered himself in the opposite direction. He didn't know what the other ghosts would think of him being here and he wanted to avoid them as long as possible.

He rounded a corner behind which he knew the Great Hall doors to be just in time to float through a surprised red-headed witch who had been leaving the Hall with her blonde friend. Harry recognised her immediately. The face he scarcely remembered seeing in real life had been etched in his mind as he had again and again studied the photos Hagrid had given him. Those clear, smiling eyes speared trough him in the gentlest way, but it still hurt hollowly. It was his mother! She looked quite pale and Harry remembered that walking through a ghost created a feeling of having walked through an icy shower.

"Ah, are you alright? I didn't mean to bump- I mean, float through you. I'm really sorry."

Lily let out a strained laugh and smiled slightly at the worried blonde witch before turning to look at Harry.

"It's quite all right."

She looked so beautiful. So alive. Harry wanted to- _hug her I'm your son I want to hear you laugh what's your favourite food colour spell I love you I wish_- But he realised he could do nothing. If he indeed was in the past, he couldn't say anything. Do anything. Not as the future son of this young woman, at least. That was obvious. A powerful tide of feelings was washing over him and Harry closed his eyes and rode it out. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't. He just had to accept that.

Harry smiled.

"I'm Harry."

"Oh." She smiled back at him. "I'm Lily. And this is my friend Alice." Looking at the girl Harry realised it was Neville's mother. She looked the same she had in the Order of the Phoenix photograph Harry had gotten from Sirius.

"Nice to meet you both."

How ironic that Harry's mother was alive… and he was dead. Or at least he appeared to be dead. He'd have to consult the Headmistress- no, Dumbledore was still alive. He wanted his body back. He wanted to see Ron and Hermione again. And Teddy. And all the people he had left behind. Ginny as well, though he was sure that she didn't want to see him... He wanted to know where, why and how. And who. This wasn't normal floo network malfunction, of that he was sure.

But it was his mother, alive, standing in front of him and how could he want anything more right at this moment.

"I haven't seen you before." It was Alice who had spoken.

Lily seemed to perk up at that. "I haven't either."

"Oh, I'm… not from here."

His mother was starting to look interested.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Harry interrupted. He was an awful liar and besides, he didn't want to start lying to this girl… his mother.

"Oh." She was looking apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." There was an awkward silence. Harry would have so much loved to say something more to ease the tension.

"Uh, Lily, we really need to go." Alice was looking hesitant.

"Oh, the potion's class! I nearly forgot." She seemed surprised at this. "Well," He turned to Harry. "Um, maybe we'll see each other again?"

Harry smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah."

Harry watched the two friends run towards the dungeons.

"I really hope so," he sighed.

But right now he had a headmaster to see. He quickly peeked through the Great Hall doors and looked at the teacher's table. He could see Professor McGonagall, younger but still as stern as ever, leaving the table. Most of the seats were already empty. There were a couple of faces he didn't recognise, but his eyes magnetically zeroed on the white-bearded, large-nosed wizard in forget-me-not blue robes sitting at the centre of the long wooden table. Good, Dumbledore was here.

He decided not to approach the headmaster in the Great Hall. It would be best to discuss with him in private.

He had tried to avoid looking at the Gryffindor table, but couldn't help himself. There were a few students still eating… but he couldn't see his father and his friends. He didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved.

He backed out of the doors and headed towards the Headmaster's office.

IIIIIIIIII

"He was really young for a ghost."

Lily turned towards Alice. Professor Slughorn was writing the instructions on the chalkboard.

"Yeah, he was."

"He looked pretty healthy too. Not like Nearly Headless Nick and his neck. Or The Bloody Baron." Alice shuddered. "I would never want to know how _he_ died."

"Mmm."

"It must have been horrible to die so young."

"I'd imagine so."

"You don't seem very interested," Alice stated. "I thought you'd be more curious." She huffed and returned to look at Professor Slughorn, who was correcting a Hufflepuff called Edwin Macmillan for his careless suggestion that they could use Jobberknoll feathers for the Everlasting Elixir they were making today.

Lily glanced at Alice and didn't say anything. She _was_ curious. But she couldn't really explain why. First she had thought he had looked familiar and wondered if she had seen him before, maybe when he had been alive, but then realised that he looked a bit like James Potter, the annoying prick who was currently sitting on the row behind her. Lily couldn't be sure of the hair or eye colour since all ghosts were gray in colour and Harry had been no exception. Maybe they were related? But as far as she knew Potter was an only child and didn't have any cousins. But who knew how long Harry had been a ghost. His clothes had been very modern-looking, though, so maybe that theory wasn't very sound… Maybe they weren't related at all and Lily was imagining things. To her endless irritation se had noticed her mind wandering to Potter more often than was rational. He was pompous and vain and there was very little in him Lily found she liked. She noticed she had been wrinkling her brow to an angry expression and stopped it.

There had been a very strange air about Harry too, Lily had noticed. Sadness mixed with joy, if she had read the signs correctly. And something else she-

"Now, class, let's get to work." Slughorn clapped his hands and the whole class quickly rose in a clatter of chairs. Lily checked the list of ingredients and headed to the storage. She noticed Severus a few people ahead of her. Ever since last year, after she had found out about his fascination with the Dark Arts, their friendship had been strained. For a while Lily had not wanted to speak with him at all, but then she had seen how alone he seemed to be, always sitting a little way from other people, head buried in a book or morbidly staring at nothing, a horrible expression on his face... and she had felt... not pity, but camaraderie. She had had a happy childhood, but she also knew loneliness. Now she was trying to mend what she had broken, but he had been avoiding her successfully ever since the start of the term. She was starting to feel a bit angry with him. She knew she had said some pretty hurtful things and could understand why Severus seemed to resent her, but she had always thought they were friends despite being in different houses. But it seemed like Severus didn't share the thought. She knew he didn't hate her, at least not completely, but… but he had problems he didn't want to share with her and acted rudely towards her if they were in the presence of other people. Especially now. He had been acting more angry than usual. More vicious. And that scared her. He could be in trouble with no one to help him.

She noticed that Severus had gathered all the necessary ingredients and was turning to exit the storage. Lily tried to catch his eyes, but he was deliberately looking the other way. The other pupils behind her pushed towards the cupboard and she had to pass him without a sound. She would try to catch him after class… although she was sure he would refuse to speak with her then as well.

IIIIIIIIII

Hermione was sitting on an uncomfortable bench in the Visitor's Tearoom on the fifth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Ron was currently talking quietly with Ginny in the hallway.

They had returned from Slovakia as soon as they had been able to. There had been some trouble since the floo network had been temporarily banned as a travelling method. Because Harry, he-

Hermione felt like crying.

They didn't know much of what had happened. Tom the Barman had alerted the Hospital after Harry had collapsed motionless from the pub's fireplace and they had sent three Healers to fetch him. The Healers were currently busily examining him. Had been for the last ten hours. Hermione had seen a glimpse of Harry and outwardly he had seemed unharmed. She was afraid to think what-

_what if he would never w__ake up? What if there was something horribly wrong? What if-_

They didn't know what had happened, the extent of the damage. One of the Healers had emerged from the examination room a few hours ago, tired, and had immediately been confronted by Molly Weasley. The Healer hadn't been able to answer most of the questions, the most important being if Harry was still alive. They didn't know. They didn't know.

_How could they not know?_ Hermione could still hear Mrs. Weasley's shrill yelling, followed by uncontrollable sobbing. _How could they not?_ Arthur Weasley had had to take his wife home after a Nurse had given her some calming draught.

And now they were just waiting.

And waiting.

Hermione shifted on the bench.

IIIIIIIIII

**I apologise for the shortness.**** And slowness. Please do leave a review anyways! :-)**


	3. Chapter 3: Meetings

**This chapter was uploaded on 1 June 2009.**

**This chapter was edited on 29 August 2010**

**IIIIII**

**Chapter 3: ****Meetings **

**IIIIII**

He couldn't see the full moon, but he could feel it.

It was also Thursday. She had said so.

And that was important to know when he was writing letters.

It was a strange ability to have for a non-werewolf, but oddly useful. Yes, his mother had always used to say that that meant he would grow up to do great things. How right she had been.

And wrong.

He giggled to himself.

But now it made him anxious. It was uncomfortably hot in the room. He could hear his neighbour behind the curtain snoring loudly.

He didn't snore. Someone would have mentioned.

He'd have to be deaf not to hear it! And he had always prided himself of being very perceptive in the ears.

But he kind of liked the sound of snoring.

No zzzz, but more like nGGHhrrsszzzh! And again! Oh, that was a loud one. Startled him.

Maybe he had a weak throat. Or he was fat. He didn't remember if it was so. He had seen…

It was uncomfortable in the room.

Beautiful, beautiful darkness, though. Maybe he would sleep…

_He saw even deeper darkness when he closed his eyes._

No.

Struggling off of the too soft bed. Bedsprings squeaking.

Had they noticed? He couldn't see anyone. Up, up, up you go…

Hadn't stretched his feet in a while. Hurt. Joints screaming to stop and leave them alone!

But he couldn't.

No one in the corridor, just small twinkling lights in precise intervals casting shadows in the corners.

He wanted to giggle again.

But.

They hadn't allowed him to keep his wand. That was annoying. How could he check the time without a wand?

Well, he couldn't… although, he was quite sure it was now some time after midnight.

Maybe he should steal a wand…

And he was wearing the ridiculous garment they had given him! Not his style at all.

He would look better naked.

Stopping in the middle of the corridor.

Ugh…

…knots difficult to open without a wand. Now, lifting it over his head.

He could smell his armpits.

Ugly, ugly garment. Gone. Trampling on it to make sure.

Continuing down the hallway. Fresh air touching his skin in places it hadn't in a long time. Made him want to laugh.

He was free again!

It was a different floor. He knew which, because she had told him. Stupid girl.

He liked her.

Door after door after door.

Private ward because he was speeeciall. Not.

Not to him. As ugly as the white garment, as stupid as she. Nothing compared to him!

_He_ was special.

No one in sight.

Nearing the room. No redheads. No flashing lights. They had closed off the corridor. No visitors allowed.

This was the door. Gently pushing down the handle.

It opens…

Lying on the bed. As he remembered.

He wanted to-

Yes… He should.

_Not yet._ He can hear him.

It was done because-

Footsteps behind him. Smile etched to his face. Freeze.

"What _on earth _are you doing here? And _where_ are your clothes?" One of the older ones. Not pretty at all. An ugly blush. A shrilly voice.

He smiles.

"Now, let's get you to your own bed, dear. Come on, now."

Like a dog.

"Were you checking on Mr. Potter? I assure you he's quite all right. Don't you worry, dear. Spells keeping him alive."

Following. Smiling.

Smiling is good. You get what you want if you smile.

"They say he's split. Soul from body. Can you believe that? The strangest things… They can't locate the soul. And they don't know what caused it. But it was the floo network. I always suspected, that I did. I haven't used it in years. Always got sick after using, so I quit. And a good thing too. And now the worst has happened!"

Moving from the floor to his own.

"Oh, there is your gown! And how wrinkled it is… It won't do. We'll have to get you another. But first let's get you to bed."

If only they knew.

And…

Maybe next time…

He smiled.

"Come along now, dear."

IIIIII

The Headmaster's stone gargoyle was staring at him. Harry didn't know if it would be polite to just float in or if he should start listing the names of all the sweets he could think of and wait until he got the password right. And what if the password wasn't a sweet this time. Maybe Dumbledore had started using sweets as passwords in… 1985 for instance? He wouldn't know where to start if that were the case.

Maybe he should just float in.

A gentle rumble sounded in front of him and the gargoyle started moving. The way to Dumbledore's office opened and Harry could see someone's feet stepping down the stairs. Black boots that one day long in the past might have been new and shiny. A hem of a school robe, slightly tattered. Slytherin house colours. Pale skin, dark eyes, black hair.

Harry didn't recognise him. He had almost expected to see Snape emerge from the escalator-like staircase, but… well, it was not like he could bump into everyone during the first few hours in the past, he guessed. Snape was probably in class… Potions since that had been where Lily and Alice had headed to.

The boy, a seventh year judging from the Head Boy badge on his robes, spared him a quick evaluating glance and chin propped high in the air walked past him. Not snottily, just in a highly proud manner, like he had just done something of great worth. And maybe he had, having just come from a meeting with the Headmaster of the school. But Harry didn't care particularly much, just wondered fleetingly if he might have seen the boy-grown-man before, maybe wearing a mask and a tattoo of a skull in his arm… He hoped not.

The gargoyle hadn't made any move to close the pathway upstairs but rather it had stayed invitingly open. Harry guessed Dumbledore must have been aware of his presence. The man had eyes everywhere and always seemed to know everything that was going on in Hogwarts, so it didn't come as a surprise. He glided up the long staircase, the steps moving underneath him, and through the polished oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Going through objects, Harry had noticed, made him feel like he had almost felt something… as if the air had gotten slightly thicker for a second and tiny feet scurried over his body. It was a peculiar feeling he didn't know whether or not he liked.

The office was very much the same it had been in Harry's earlier visits… or rather how it was always going to be in Dumbledore's time. Pictures of previous headmasters decorated the wall… one nodding off, another giving an animated speech no one seemed to be listening, a few empty frames here and there. The same strange silver instruments scattered on small tables around the room puffing and whirling, numerous amounts of books and papers on the large desk… and behind the desk the golden perch for Fawkes. Harry didn't see the phoenix anywhere, though.

But he did see Dumbledore. The familiar half-moon spectacles, the long silvery white beard, the nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice, the same long fingers… and his piercing blue eyes, slightly reserved and curious.

Harry started a bit since he had not seen that look in Dumbledore's eyes that many a time. In his sixth year, yes, but Harry had always tried to forget that and think of Dumbledore as he had seen him in his first years of school. He knew now that Dumbledore wasn't perfect and had many faults… but so did everyone. He loved Dumbledore and always would. Even if the man didn't know it right now.

Dumbledore moved to stand behind his desk. He nodded to Harry to indicate he could freely choose where to settle.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster of this school. Although, I'm presuming you've come here knowing that." Here he paused for a few seconds and Harry could see him think of something that seemed to amuse him slightly.

"Hmm, I must admit I was quite surprised when Dexter Fortescue kindly informed me of a new ghost on our school grounds," Dumbledore said and quickly quirked his eyes towards the portrait of a plump man with a red nose," I am feeling _rather_ curious. May I ask your name?"

"It's Harry. Just Harry"

Dumbledore raised his left eyebrow slightly, but Harry was glad to see he didn't look any more reserved than he had before.

"Very well then. And what is the reason you've come to Hogwarts, Harry?"

"Mm, that is quite hard to explain, sir, I'm afraid." Here he stopped. It was hard to decide where he should start from… or if he should start at all. Maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to tell Dumbledore, now that he knew he was in the past.

"Anything you say in this office will stay between us," said Dumbledore and for a moment looked less stern and more like his usual jolly self. "Unless you've come here with malicious intentions in which case I consider it my duty to inform my fellow professors, of course."

"Oh no, nothing like that," Harry said hastily. "It's just that, well, I don't know what to say."

"It's always good to start from the beginning." Dumbledore smiled.

"Well…" He should trust Dumbledore. He really needed the man's help. But he'd better leave the time travel out of the story, for now at least. "I'm not quite sure how it happened. I was supposed to be flooing to Diagon Alley… and I found myself in Hogwarts with no idea how I'd gotten here. I don't remember dying… but it seems like my body has disappeared."

"Curious." Dumbledore tapped his fingers on the cover of _Charm Your Own Cheese_ by Gerda Catchlove. Harry remembered having seen the book in the Weasley's kitchen. "Curious indeed… And you've had no contact with Dark wizards? Anyone who would have wished you dead? Information about Voldemort and his Death Eaters?" Dumbledore's voice had gained a slightly harder tone.

"Uh, no… No." Yes.

"Hmm…"

"I'm on your side, sir," Harry said suddenly to the silence. He wanted Dumbledore's trust. Needed it. "I mean, on the Light Side. I'd like you to believe me, since it's the honest truth, Professor."

Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment, but then his face brightened and he smiled. "I'm glad to hear that, my boy." The Headmaster seemed to relax some. "And you decided to come to me because…"

"Because I was hoping you might know what had happened and possibly reverse the curse… or whatever it is."

"Ah, I'm sorry, but I must admit I've never heard of such a curse." Dumbledore looked regretful.

"Oh."

What could he do now?

"Say, where did you receive your schooling? Not here, yet you seem to be quite familiar with Hogwarts." Harry was looking out of the window towards the mountains and could feel Dumbledore's evaluating stare directed at his back.

"I was home-schooled. But I have friends who came to Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't tell if he had convinced Dumbledore, but the man seemed content enough with his answer.

"You, of course, wish to inform your family of your predicament?"

"There's no need. I don't have any family left."

"I'm sorry, my boy." The Headmaster looked sad for a moment and Harry wondered if he might have been thinking about his own family.

"Hmm… I do think, however, that there are a great many sources for help. We have our share of ghosts here in Hogwarts. And I might know someone who is an expert in these matters. It might be quite hard to get in touch with them, but I'd be glad to try if it would help your cause."

Harry turned towards the now smiling Dumbledore.

"I would greatly appreciate that, sir."

"You are staying with us, are you not? I assure you you're more than welcome to stay, Harry."

"Oh, yes, thank you. I'd like that very much."

Maybe while he was searching for a cure, he might also get to see his parents some.

Suddenly a thought hit him.

"Sir, you wouldn't have a mirror here?"

As a matter of fact, Dumbledore did have a mirror. A large one that reminded Harry of the Mirror of Erised. He floated in front of the mirror, feeling quite apprehensive… but also very curious.

Harry looked at his reflection. He hadn't caught his image anywhere on his way to see Dumbledore and was quite surprised to see himself as a ghost for the first time. He was reminded of his very first meeting with the Hogwarts ghosts, in that small chamber so many years ago when he and Ron and all the other first years had anxiously waited to be sorted, scared to have to perform in front of the whole school. He could still hear the startled screams when the ghosts had glided through the back wall and smiled fleetingly.

He was floating about six inches from the floor. His clothes were still the same ones he had put on that morning; slightly smudgy sneakers, old jeans with a belt made of dragon leather and a rather ratty-looking T-shirt. His wardrobe had mirrored his earlier head-achy mood. He had noticed that his wand had gone missing when he had automatically tried to reach for it a while ago. He felt naked without it.

The war had changed him. In more ways than one. On the inside he felt different, but he also looked different. After the war he had avoided looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't like to see the change. But now he couldn't help but notice every little detail. A stern looking young man was staring at him with hard, wary eyes. He wasn't the scrawny knobbly-kneed child any more, but lean and muscled. His hair was as messy as before and slightly longer. He had been about to cut it but hadn't had time. Now it seemed it was too late. For now at least.

But the most noticeable changes where those caused by the various flying spells on the battlefield. He was forever lucky he didn't look as bad as Mad-Eye had. There had been one hex that had hit him in the corner of his right eye. There had been no need for a glass eye, but instead he had gained a rather ugly scar. He had also broken his nose, but Madam Pomfrey had managed to set it right again and it looked almost the same as it had before. There were other mild scars on his face and neck and one a bit lager on his back, now unseen. He didn't look as much like his father anymore, he thought.

He wrinkled his brow. There was something very strange… something off… about the colour. He was translucent like all the other ghosts, but the colour was a light grey, almost dusty hue, instead of the more pearly silver one he had always associated with ghost. He looked duller.

And then he remembered. He hadn't been able to see anything in the closet he had found himself in. He hadn't glowed in the dark!

What did that mean?

He turned to look at Dumbledore.

"Sir, you wouldn't happen to know anything about-"

But right at that moment a frantic knocking could be heard behind the oak door. Dumbledore became instantly alert but stayed behind the table where he had been inspecting Harry while he had studied himself in the mirror. He looked calm yet attentive.

"Maybe it would be best for me to go," Harry said and turned towards the door.

"Maybe that would be the best. Do not hesitate to come here, in case there is something you wish to discuss with me. I'll be contacting my colleague, rest assured."

"Thank you."

"Please enter," Dumbledore said in a loud voice that carried behind the door.

A haggard looking Argus Filch flung the door open and pulled a deer-caught-in-headlights looking boy in Gryffindor robes along with him. Harry noticed it was the same boy he had conversed with earlier and he saw that the boy had noticed him too. His robes were covered in lime green slime and his hair was no longer the pale blond it had been earlier, but also had a greenish tint to it.

"Headmaster! This one's the only one I caught but there were tens of them filthying, ruining the castle! I said, didn't I, we need harsh punishments! The second floor is-!"

Harry decided to slip out of the room. He saw the boy looking after him, but decided to ignore it. He could hear Filch's scratchy yelling all the way down.

IIIIII

He stood in front of her, tall, dark and… well, Lily thought he was quite handsome, but knew that that was an opinion not widely shared by the majority of Hogwart's student population. Or… if shared at all.

"Listen, I don't know what you thought… but you're wrong. I don't want you following me around." His black eyes were cold and bottomless and his voice equally as chilling.

"I'm not following you around! I mean, I just want to talk to you. You're avoiding me and I want to know why!"

"…"

"Severus!"

"I already said I don't want you following me around."

"That's not a reason!"

"Yes it is."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes. it. _is_. I'm going now and you're going to stay right here or go the other way, I don't care. As long as you're not following me. Not now. Not ever."

She felt like she could punch him. The stupid idiot! How dare he.

"I know you don't really want that."

"But I do."

"No you don't."

"I do. And I'm not having this argument all over again."

"Well, I am and-!"

"Bye."

"Don't you walk out on me!"

But he had already turned and was walking briskly towards the castle.

"Severus!"

Damn it all to hell! What was his problem?

Well… that had been what she had been so set to find out in the first place.

And failed… big time.

Ah, she was starting to think they were both idiots. Severus bloody Snape for not telling her what was pestering him. And she knew it was something big and important. And her herself for being too nosy and annoying. It wasn't the way to get him open up.

She sighed and pinched her nose to calm down.

And then let out a small laugh.

Petunia… she always pinched her nose when she was annoyed. One of the few things they shared anymore…

They hadn't been speaking either.

And suddenly Lily felt horribly sad and alone…

She'd better go and find Alice. She always could cheer her up.

IIIIII

"Of all the things! Why…"

Harry could hear muttering and angry footsteps coming towards him. He knew that voice. Before he could escape through the nearest wall he was face to face with his irate looking future Potions Master.

With Severus Snape.

The look on Snape's face changed quickly from anger to surprise to anger again.

"Potter!" He snarled. "Finally managed to kill yourself?"

"Uh…"

"About time, wouldn't you think. Or was it your dear friend Black? Wouldn't that be just charming. Now you can haunt him for the rest of his life, playing your petty tricks on each other for all eternity" Snape said with a gloating sneer.

"…"

"Well, say something!"

But Harry couldn't. Behind Snape he could see…

"Oy, Snivellus!"

And Snape's expression again turned to surprise. He spun around…

…and Harry fled before he would become part of the confrontation that was sure to follow, simultaneously praying that he hadn't been noticed by the group of young Marauders walking down the corridor.

IIIIII

**AN: I hope I'm not being too obvious. Or too evil.**

**And I'm extremely sorry for the long wait. But my entrance exams are now over! And so I can concentrate on other things now, this story in particular, I hope. I've been rereading the HP books to gain some much-needed background knowledge… extremely slooowly. **

**As you might have noticed, I've slightly changed a few things, including Harry's appearance. I hope nobody minds overly much.**

**Thank you for the lovely reviews and for alerting and favouriting! Special thanks to Amariposa for again saving me from an embarrassing mistake. **

**Please review if you have time! I'd like to hear what you think.**


	4. Chapter 4: Half a Soul

**Thank you to Morgana-White, Desdemona, EIMIM, Xenia Marvolo, C.S., Suomynonya and SoftWings for reviewing.**

**This chapter was uploaded on: 11 Jun 2009 **

**Edited on 29 August 2010**

**IIIIII**

**Chapter 4: Half a Soul**

**IIIIII**

He could see Hagrid's hut near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He could see the forest itself, dark and foreboding. The lake, clear and grey, the giant squid swimming somewhere in its depths. The sky was littered with clouds in different shades of greys, blues and blacks, all slowly making their way towards east. It would rain soon.

Harry sighed, but it was more of a mental sigh. If he had tried hard enough, he might have been able to produce a small current of air, but what was the point of doing that. He was tired and had sighed because of that. Nothing more. He sighed again.

Ill. That's how he felt; ill. Everything had been going so well and then something like this had had to happen…

No, he was just kidding himself. Nothing had been right before. He had had no aim in his life, no direction, no plan… and Ginny had left him. He had to be glad that it had happened so early in their relationship… although they had know each other for ages… and he guessed both had always thought, Ginny more than him, that this would be it. Just the two of them.

He missed her, if only for the feeling of sharing something intimate. Having someone just for him, to talk and laugh with.

And now he was here, surrounded by people he knew and didn't know. He was even less alive than he had been before… didn't smell the crisp air that told of coming rain, couldn't touch the rough texture of Hogwart's stone walls, didn't taste, couldn't feel real hunger, just the echo of memories that made him long to eat… he just felt empty.

He had wanted to go as high as he could, as far away from Sirius and James, Remus, Pettigrew and Snape as he could. He wanted, for a moment longer, to pretend he was not here. He couldn't exactly tell where the feeling had come from. The sudden urge to flee. But maybe that had been all for the best. Merlin knows what his father would have thought had he seen him. But Snape had already done so. Nothing he could do about that. He was bound to be suspicious, but Harry was fairly sure he could avoid both Snape and the Marauders quite easily. He didn't need any one of them to get too curious.

And now he was here moping beside an open window of one of the sixth floor corridors.

Suddenly the raindrops started to fall. First quite gently, one, two, three, then a whole army of them, hissing like a thousand snakes flying from the clouds like small pointy arrowheads. Harry couldn't understand what they said.

He reached out of the window. The rain didn't hesitate but plummeted straight through his arm. He flexed his fingers and closing his eyes concentrated on feeling. Something. Anything. Small tickling feeling, like melting ice. That's how the rain felt. He opened his eyes and the feeling was gone.

He couldn't stay here forever. He had to do something or he'd go mad.

There were so many unanswered questions. What had happened to his body? What was the reason he was here? He needed to know. And he couldn't just wait for Dumbledore's mysterious colleague to arrive and cure everything in a blink. If that was even possible. No, he needed to start doing something now.

But what could he do?

He floated away from the window. The rain looked like it had eased a bit, but was still pouring. It had transformed the grounds into strange grey blurry shapes. He couldn't even see Hagrid's hut anymore; it had become one with the large inky black shape of the Forest beside it. Harry looked at the floor under him and could see that a small puddle had formed there. He thought of Filch. The man would be absolutely livid.

… but nothing he could do about that…

It was eerily quiet in the sixth floor. No one had come and no one had gone while he had been in the corridor. But then again, it was getting late and the majority of the students were already in their common rooms. Thinking of common rooms gave him a slight pang in the chest. What he would have given to sit in one of the plush chairs in the Gryffindor common room, beside the fire, and listen to Ron and Hermione bicker about something unimportant. Ron and Hermione… he hadn't seen them in ages…

Merlin, he was beginning to resemble Moaning Myrtle. Soon he'd have to find himself his own bathroom to cry in.

He sighed again. No, there was no point wallowing in misery when he could be doing something. And what he could do…

… was to go to find the other Hogwarts ghosts. Any of them… although he would prefer Nick over the Baron. Yes, that's what he would do…

He gazed at the falling rain for a few moments more, its hypnotizing monotony yet restless fierceness luring him and giving him a moment of peace he had been longing for.

But he couldn't just hide in a cupboard and pretend nothing had happened. And with that he tore his eyes from the calming picture outside. He didn't have the slightest idea where he could find any of the other ghosts, but it wasn't very likely that they would be hiding from him and he'd have to eventually bump into someone.

The torches had lit themselves, but the halls and corridors were still full of shadows. Portraits turned sleepy-eyed to watch him as he passed them. He felt like an intruder sneaking about in the quiet of the night. The curfew must have passed already because he met no one.

What felt like hours, but was probably more close to a quarter of an hour, he finally spotted someone glowing passing the corridor a few doors from him. They disappeared into the wall of the Charms classroom, Harry close behind them. When he got through the wall, however, the room was empty except for desks and chairs and small clutter of curious items sprinkled around the room ranging from forgotten books to a colour-changing quill someone had left on their desk.

He chose the wall to his right and floated again to an empty classroom, this one dusty and unused. The room next to it was also in a similar state. He decided to go back into the corridor. No one there either.

Maybe he should just go and visit Myrtle. He knew where she would be for certain. None of this wild ghost chase, leading him nowhere.

But what could he talk about with Myrtle? What could he ask? And what if she invited him to live with her in the bathroom?

No, maybe he shouldn't go to see her.

He continued down the dark corridor, his spirits sinking. There were at least twenty ghosts in Hogwarts and he hadn't met any yet. An uncomfortable idea started to form in his mind. Maybe they _were_ avoiding him. Maybe-

"Who goes there?"

Harry was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts. The torches were sparser in this corridor and he was completely covered in shadow. The glowing figures of The Fat Friar and Nearly-Headless Nick, however, shone brightly in the middle of the darkness.

"Show yourself!" It was Nick, staring right at Harry, not seeing him, his eyes bright and alert, ready to flee or charge. The Friar also looked worried.

"Maybe it was just a rat…"

"No, I can feel it. And so can you. Something is there in the shadows."

Harry froze. The other ghosts felt threatened… by him…? He didn't move for a moment, staring at the pair, but then floated under one of the torches, keeping his eyes on Nick and the Friar, waiting to see their reaction.

The Friar squeaked and Nick floated a bit further from him.

"Who are you and what are you doing in Hogwarts?" Nick's voice was steely hard.

What could he say to that? He could see the ghosts' silvery faces tightening.

"I command you to answer!"

"I'm Harry Potter and I mean no harm!"

He could see the suspicion in Nick's eyes. The Fat Friar came forward, his friendly face marred with a deep frown.

"What are you doing in this castle, half soul?"

Half soul?

"What do you mean? Half soul?"

The Friar looked uncomfortable. He shared a quick, meaningful glance with Nick. The Friar shook his head slightly and Nick's face darkened. When the nearly headless ghost spoke his voice was a growling whisper.

"Leave this castle. We do not want the likes of you here." His eyes shone an almost manic light that made Harry shudder. The Friar had floated to the end of the corridor and Nick turned to follow him.

"No! You've got to help me!" Harry's voice rang eerie in the narrow space. The ghosts stopped and Nick spun around so quickly that his head wobbled dangerously.

"Help you? Help you!" Nick looked like Harry had suggested him to murder Dumbledore. His face was twisted with fury. "Help. You don't deserve help! Whatever you did, this is your punishment."

"But I haven't done anything!" Nick's eyes flashed and Harry felt an icy feeling of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

"You have the mark! Don't try to deny it! Where is the other half of your soul, you rotten bastard?"

"I haven't done anything! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Nick looked ready to attack him. His nostrils flared and he bared his teeth.

"The likes of you! Always the same! This is what you chose and yet you try to slither your way out of it. You have only yourself to blame! I'll show you help!"

"Nicholas, wait!" It was the Friar. Before Harry could process what was happening the plump ghost had floated between the maniac-looking Nick and Harry, who had been so shocked to see the usually good-willed Gryffindor ghost acting so hostile that he had frozen in place.

"Get out of my way!" But the Friar didn't budge.

"Maybe we should hear him out after all."

"You're too soft, you fool!" The Friar looked deeply insulted.

"We can't be sure before we ask, now can we." The voice was calm, but it had a hint of annoyance in it.

"And we should just wait until he decides to take our souls to try to mend himself!"

"No! I merely suggested we should hear him out."

Harry didn't dare to say anything, but watched as the ghosts glared intently at each other, a silent battle of wills, which the Friar seemed to win, because slowly Nick lowered his gaze and started to look calmer.

"Very well. We will hear him out. But I still do not like this." The Friar nodded tersely, his expression grave. He turned to Harry.

"Please do explain what you are doing in Hogwarts, half soul?"

Harry felt a twinge of annoyance.

"I'm Harry, not 'half soul' and I would appreciate it if you would use my own name instead of that term. I don't know what you're talking about. About punishment and choosing to be like this. Because I didn't, choose this, I mean. I just suddenly realised I was missing my body today. And I thought you could possibly help me to get my body back. Dumbledore agreed that I should come to you."

A silence followed this. Then…

"Oh… Dumbledore did mention a boy, didn't he, Nicholas? When we met him."

A silence followed this statement as well. Both ghosts stared at Harry with similar expressions of curiosity mixed with unease.

The silence stretched for so long Harry was starting to feel like he should say something. But then the Friar sighed, a deep, weary sigh.

"You know what this means… We need to hold a Ghost's Council," said the Friar heavily.

"Yes," agreed Nick, as if he had been thinking the same thing, which he probably had, "I'll fetch the others. You watch him. We'll meet in Binns' classroom."

The Friar nodded and watched together with Harry as Nick quickly glided away.

"Well, shall we go then?" said the Hufflepuff ghost. He didn't smile, but Harry didn't feel any hostility coming from him either. Caution, yes, but no hostility.

"Sure," Harry said and they started towards the first floor. Harry felt hesitant in the presence of the other ghost, but couldn't stop himself from asking: "Um… There are things I don't really understand. What does a half soul mean?"

The Friar halted and Harry had to stop as well.

"You swear you don't know why you only have half a soul left? We ghosts can feel it, but living humans, even those as powerful as Albus Dumbledore, cannot distinguish us. They think we are all the same. Only if the soul is missing completely do they notice that something is amiss. That is, if the soul hasn't been replaced by another. Do you swear you do not know a thing? Because if you do, and it is the truth, I will help you. But if you lie… and we can find that out… If you lie, nothing will save you."

Harry shuddered at the thought.

"I swear."

The Friar's stare was intense and Harry tried not to blink. It was like facing a Hippogriff with an X-ray gaze.

"I swear," he repeated and to his relief saw the Friar nod.

"Good," he nodded again, "Yes, good. You wanted to know what a half soul is. Well, I'll tell you. You are aware of Dementors, are you not? Yes, I thought so. Who wouldn't be. Those horrible creatures. You see, when a Dementor gives its Kiss, it sucks the soul out of a person. We call those poor ones soulless, because they are nothing but an empty shell anymore. Their soul is gone." Here the Friar made a cross mark and his expression was full of sorrow.

"Then, on the other end, we have the people who are alive and have both their body and their soul. When that kind of person loses their body, their soul still remains. The soul can either choose to move on or stay behind, like Nicholas and I have done. While we do not have our body, we are still in full possession of our souls. But there is an in-between. The half souls." It was the Friar's turn to shudder.

"We call all of those who do not have all their soul left half souls, but the truth is, it is possible to have less or more soul left. I once met a fellow who only had a tenth of his soul left. Horrible, horrible, that was. But nothing you can do…"

It looked like the Friar had stopped, so Harry pressed on.

"But how exactly do you become a half soul? Nearly-hea-, I mean, Nicholas, was it? He was talking something about punishment and choice. What was that about?"

"Well… You see, Nicholas is very sensitive about this. We ghosts usually are. Losing part of your soul is a mark that you have committed a serious crime. Dark Magic mixed with soul magic. Let me give you an example. The Imperius Curse. When you cast it, you are tampering with the other person's soul, their will and life force. To cast it is a horrible crime. However, the curse, while terrible, is quite mild in the sense that it actually robs only a very small part of the caster's soul. You can perform the Imperius Curse thousands of times and still have most of your soul left. But there are darker, more powerful curses and spells. Not involving anyone else but the caster, because they themselves are the recipient. Doing that kind of damage to your soul is an act of madness, of desperation, usually greed. Of having some frightful goal that turns you against yourself."

Harry thought of Voldemort.

"Can you mend your soul? Nicholas said something about me taking your souls to mend myself…"

"Well, that's a tricky question…" The Friar again looked very uncomfortable, like he would have loved to discuss anything else but this.

"You see, it's actually quite impossible. Once part of your soul is gone, it is gone. You can of course store parts of your soul to somewhere specific, some wizards do that, but putting it back is a tricky thing. You will never be the same. Always something missing. Then again, there are those half souls who do not seek to mend themselves with their own soul, because they have truly lost them. Their desire to be whole again is stronger than their sense of right and they go after other souls. What they do not realise in their hunger is that there is no cure. Once they try to take another's soul, they lose a part of their own and become even less than what they were before. It is a cycle. A terrible cycle. Taking another's soul would require immense amount of strength and half souls usually are so ill and weak that they do not success in their attempt and destroy themselves for ever."

Harry still had many questions he would have loved to ask, but the Friar seemed reluctant to tell more and Harry restrained himself.

Both were silent for the rest of the journey to the History of Magic classroom. When they arrived there Harry could see that Nick had managed to gather at least most of the ghosts, some he knew, some he had never seen before. Helena Ravenclaw was present, The Baron on the other side of the room, looking as morbid as ever, Binns, Myrtle, Nick himself. A wrinkled witch who was so bent her nose might have touched the floor if she had not been floating half a feet over it. Two wizards in clothes not unlike those that Nick wore. A bookish looking man who reminded Harry of Percy. And many others, all severe and unsmiling, some anxious. Harry felt very much like an outsider in the middle of the glowing mass of people who, after they had noticed he had arrived, floated to the edges of the room, giving him and the Friar a wide berth. The only one who had stayed unmoving was Nick.

"What took you so long?" Nick was looking tense and his gaze kept shifting between the Friar and Harry.

"Do not worry, Nicholas, nothing happened."

"Hm," the nearly headless ghost didn't look entirely convinced, but as it looked like there was nothing wrong with the Friar he let the matter drop and said instead: "As you all know, we have gathered here to discuss him." He pointed at Harry like he was a judge accusing him of a serious crime.

"Dumbledore has already given his blessing for the boy to stay in the Castle and hopes that we will help him." He raised his hand when the ghosts started muttering and everyone quieted almost instantly, though Harry still caught some expressions of outrage and disbelief. "Each one of you will get a turn to voice their opinion."

As the council proceeded, first the Friar making a statement on Harry's behalf, then Nick arguing against him, followed by 'Percy' taking a middle ground, followed by a wrinkly old wizard wearing a top hat, followed by… Harry started losing his train of thought and the wall, suddenly, felt like the most interesting thing in the world. A spider had woven its web between the wall and a bookcase. How curious that was… a miracle for such a small thing to be so beautiful. The gnawing worry evaporated. So what if the ghosts decided he couldn't stay in Hogwarts? It didn't matter. The angry voices sounded muffled. He felt like he was a fly on the wall, or looking down a Pensieve on someone else's memory. But what was a Pensieve? And did he have something in his ears? And who was arguing? He hated angry voices. He was always yelled at. His Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon. At school. How he wished his parents were still alive. But they had died in a car crash.

He had something in his eyes, because he couldn't see the web anymore. Where was the spider? He was supposed to stay in his cupboard. Where was it? It was dark and he couldn't see anything. Was he lost? Had he ran away? But why had he done it during a blackout? The streetlights weren't on and he didn't see any car lights either. The air wasn't fresh, it was… nothing. Smelled of nothing. There was no wind, just stillness.

He could be floating in space!

…

Had the world come to an end…? Once he had peeked in Dudley's room when his cousin had been watching television and a busty woman in a skimpy outfit had been saying something about… about doom and end! Had her prediction come true?

He didn't want to die!

Suddenly a pain so intense hit him that it felt like he had been burned alive. He felt a scream bubbling up… or was it a scream? It felt hot, burning inside, like he would soon be a fountain of blood. He felt his mouth open, but no sound came out.

He opened his eyes.

The ghosts were staring at him with expressions carved of stone. It was quiet in the classroom, so quiet you could have heard a levitating feather zooming by.

"This is just what I mean!" shouted Nick suddenly in an accusing voice.

"The more reason we have to help him, Nicholas!" pleaded the Friar.

"Did you see what just happened! He lost himself! If he stayed here, one day we would just realise we had an unbalanced wraith in our hands, one that surely would not hesitate to eat us!"

"But if we helped! There is still hope! There is always hope! That is what you too believed once! We can still help him! He hasn't been a half soul for long!"

"Yet he is already coming apart!"

"We can help him Nicholas!"

Nearly Headless Nick opened his mouth, only to close it again.

"We will vote," he said finally.

"Wait," someone said, and to his astonishment Harry realised it had been his own mouth uttering the word. His voice sounded raspy and breathless. "Wait. I want to say something." He paused to think.

"I- I haven't been completely honest with you." Nick huffed. "No, it's true that I don't know where a part of my soul is… or my body, for that matter. It is true that I haven't got a clue why this happened to me. I haven't done anything that would make me this way, at least I think so. I have never performed dark magic voluntarily, only when I had to. You see, there has just been a war where I come from and-"

"A war? What war? I wouldn't speak of war yet, Merlin's beard be damned, and the last one ended in 1945," interrupted Nick.

Harry took a deep mental breath.

"I'm from the future."

Nick's mouth curled in a poor imitation of a smile.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, it is not a joke, I swear. My name is Harry Potter and I was born July 31 1980. My father is James Potter, currently in his sixth year here in Hogwarts and my mother Lily Evans, likewise a sixth year."

This was his last straw. He just hoped nothing ill would come of it in the long run.

The ghosts started glancing at each other with furtive eyes, but Harry had locked his eyes with Nick and the ghost was reluctant to show weakness by turning to the Friar for negotiation. They stared at each other until Nick said:

"Let us pretend that I do believe you. What comes next?"

Harry grinned in his mind. Once he had Nick on his side, the other ghosts would probably follow.

"I need to get back to my own time. I worked very actively in the war and gained many enemies and I fear that one of them has cursed me this way to get me out of the way. Maybe they have planned something which I could help to prevent. I don't know. But you have to help me. I need a way back."

_Please, please, I need your help._

"We have to negotiate. If you would please go out of the room with the Friar," said Nick.

So Harry and the Hufflepuff ghost floated through the stone wall and into the corridor. It felt like ages since he had seen the torches in the corridor. He still felt dizzy and confused from what had happened. But what had happened? He was coming apart… and that wasn't a good thing.

They waited a long time, neither saying anything. Then a top hat followed by a wrinkly face emerged from the wall.

"We have decided," said the head and disappeared back.

Harry glided back in the room the Friar behind him, his eyes on Nick, whose expression was unreadable. _Please, please…_

Nick cleared his throat and suddenly smiled. It was a tight smile, but also an honest one.

"We will help you, Harry Potter," was what he said.

IIIIII

It was early morning, the weather clear but cold, Hermione's breath fogging slightly as she walked up to the Castle entrance. The trip was _ex tempore_, a sudden idea that had hit her when she could no longer sit in the Hospital. She had kissed Ron good-bye and hugged Ginny, who had looked every bit as horror-struck as Hermione felt; thin, her hair unwashed and messy, bags under her eyes, constantly on the verge of crying, her eyes bloodshot, Ginny Weasley looked dead herself. Hermione felt so sorry for Ginny, who she knew cared about Harry a great deal. She knew Ginny and Harry had had some kind of argument and felt that Ginny was probably afraid she would never get the chance to make up with him.

"How nice to see you here, Miss Granger!" said a clear and commanding voice behind Hermione, a voice of great authority, now laced with a smile. Hermione turned around and felt her own mouth turn into an answering smile.

"Oh, I wish you'd call me Hermione."

"Quite right, Hermione. And I'm Minerva if you please." The Headmistress looked delighted.

They both fell in step with each other and walked the last few paces to the front doors and into the Entrance Hall.

"What brings you here?"

"You have heard about Harry, haven't you?"

"Yes, yes. I trust they have been doing everything they can at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes. But it looks like they are not making much headway."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yes, well… it is 'a unique case' they say…" Hermione sighed. "Ron and Ginny are at the hospital, watching over Harry and waiting for news. But I needed to come here. Many things have been bothering me about this and I thought I might find something in the Library."

"Well, you know you are welcome to use it at any time."

They walked together to the fourth floor where the Headmistress bid her good luck in her search and continued towards her office.

The familiar smell of books washed over Hermione immediately after stepping into the Library and she felt herself relax for what felt like in ages. The smell of books, old and new, tens of thousands of them in thousands of shelves… This was home, at least close to it.

But she couldn't relax now, however nice that would be.

She walked straight to Madam Pince and told her she would be using books from the Restricted Section. The librarian didn't seem very happy, but told her grudgingly that she was free to do so, as long as she showed her all the books she was using and didn't try to take any of them out of the library.

Hermione set to work.

_Soul magic… soul magic… that book looked like it might be helpful… and this looked promising … that as well…_

She carried a rather large pile out of the Restricted Section for Madam Pince to mark down and found herself an empty table and sat down, opening the first book, titled _Tracing the Life-line. _It looked like it could be very useful.

But after three hours of intense reading and leafing-through she had come up with very little and was feeling quite disheartened. The pile of read books was slowly growing larger and the side where the remaining untouched books were was alarmingly small. Besides, she had started with the ones she had thought were the most promising.

She had found a couple of paragraphs about a witch who had been hexed out of her body by her enraged lover and an old article about a wizard who, after accidentally stepping on his cat with his wand in his hand, had ended up with his body in the chimney and his soul transported into his cat. The article told that the mediwizards and –witches had been able to return the wizard into his body and accompanying was a photo of a grinning old man with bottle glasses, a cat in his arms. The witch hadn't been as lucky; the lover had put her soul into an amulet and burned the body.

She had also found a few spells and curses that might have been used to tamper with the Floo network. But none of them looked to be quite right.

She grabbed the third to last book from the pile on her left. It was a thick book with reddish-brown covers, the pages yellow and partly torn. The title was written in thin, silvery writing that almost disappeared into the rest of the book's back. _The Unknown Waiting_ by Salacia Syche. Hermione had almost missed the book, but someone had left it protruding among the books beside it and Hermione had become suspicious. Someone must have taken this book out of the shelf very recently, otherwise Madam Pince would have had time to put it back properly.

She opened the book with baited breath and started reading.

After a few minutes she was ready to close the book. Whoever had wrote book had been the most horrible kind of vulture. The book was a mixture of divination, interviews with ghosts that must have been exaggerated or invented altogether and erotic tales laced with blood and gore. She banged the book close with a noise of frustration.

The two remaining books were quickly leafed through. Angrily she picked up the books. She would have to come back tomorrow. The thought didn't cheer her up at all and in her mood she didn't notice the chair next to her until it was too late.

She tripped and there was a sickening crashing sound when the chair hit the floor and the books went flying every which way. She watched horrified as torn pages fluttered over her and Madam Pince's voice boomed from behind the shelf on her left.

"Who was it! Who dared to disobey the library rules!"

Hermione quickly grabbed her wand and muttered the restoring spell under her breath.

"_Reparo, reparo, reparo_." Pointing quickly at each book in turn and then levitating them on the desk, just in time before Madam Pince stepped around the shelf like a vulture hunting for mice, a pinched looking expression on her face, her eyes flaming.

"Miss Granger," she said, her mouth forming a small o of surprise.

"I'm extremely sorry, Madam Pince. I tripped and the chair fell down." She got up from the floor and lifted the chair up.

Madam Pince looked like she had swallowed a lemon, but as Hermione was no longer a first-year, or in the school at all for that matter, and as her behaviour in the library had nearly always been very exemplary, the librarian bit back her outraged yells and settled to glaring from behind her glasses.

"Do be careful next time," was all she said and left in a huff.

Hermione sighed in relief. She turned again to gather the books, but then noticed something poking out of the Salacia Syche book. It was a piece of paper, a page. How odd, she had just done the repairing spell. Nothing should have been out of place anymore. She quickly grabbed the book and opened it on the page where the paper was. She glimpsed an illustration of a naked witch dancing in moonlight before she again banged the book shut, but not before the paper was in her hand.

It was indeed a torn page. A page typed in curly green writing she was familiar of, but couldn't quite remember where from, a page that was definitely not part of _The Unknown Waiting_. She skimmed it over and then smiled in relief.

She now knew what she was up against.

And she would make sure she won.

IIIIII

The morning hardly differed from the night. The dark clouds hadn't lifted; the Sun hiding pale somewhere behind them. It was raining as hard as ever.

Still, Harry felt like this day might be a great deal better than the one before. He actually felt rather relaxed, more in his element than he had done yesterday. He knew now that he was not alone. He was sure everything would be well again, sooner or later. Something was bound to happen, good or bad, he didn't know which, but surely something would happen and he would have to go from there. To take it as it came. He was free to feel anxious, but he shouldn't let it overpower him.

After the council most of the ghosts had simply vanished, everyone going back to where they had been before they were summoned. Only Harry, Nick and the Friar had remained. They had arranged a meeting the following night in the Hogwarts Library and Harry was feeling increasingly optimistic.

He rounded a corner and had to bite back a yell of 'Not again!' when a sight behind the corner met his eyes.

Snape looked at him with his shrewd eyes, a smirk on his lips.

"Well, well, well… If it isn't the Potter ghost."

"What do you want?" Harry said, his voice a suspicious hiss. _Should he go for it? The wall on his left looked promising. Maybe he should just-_ Snape's voice stopped him.

"Hmm… what do I want? I want to know why you look so much like James Potter," Snape said and Harry could hear danger in his voice, the underlying frustration and anger. He looked tense, like a snake ready to attack.

"James Potter? I don't know any James Potter," Harry replied and tried to make his voice as innocent as possible. "If that was all you wanted to know then good day, I'll have to go now. If you'll excuse me."

"Wait!" he glimpsed Snape's face, oddly startled and round-eyed, an expression that he could have never even imagined on that sallow face. But then he was already on the other side of the wall.

He could hear the kick aimed at the wall and the cursing that followed it. Then loud, angry steps as Snape headed towards the Great Hall.

Harry closed his eyes. He was screwed if he'd have to keep avoiding Snape at every turn… If the Slytherin was intent on finding him, he would have to be extra cautious. He definitely hadn't wished for anything additional, but of course nothing could ever go as he would have liked it to.

As in life, so in death, it seemed.

He sighed.

IIIIII

**AN: Hmm… A question. I tried to make Hermione's POV as short as possible without it being ridiculous because I thought people might prefer it not to interfere too much with Harry's. However, do you think it was too short? Would you still read them if they were longer?**

**And sorry for the extremely slow pace! It's just that there has been so much I have had to get out of the way before concentrating on **_**That**_**.**

**Please review if you have time!**


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